We'll See
by Tari Seregon
Summary: Every questions she asked, it was always "We'll see." She was tired of waiting to see.


_**We'll See**_

He sat down next to her on the cold, hard stone bench. She remembered the days when she dreamt of him holding her to keep her warm. Now, she shivered as the icy wind cut her face, knowing that she could dream of such things, but they would never be.

"I used to like you. But right now's not the best time for me to have a girlfriend," he had whispered, holding both of her hands tightly. "Don't wait for me. Go love other people."

She had been so crushed. She had looked down at their clasped hands and wondered why, if he didn't love her like she wanted him to, was he holding her like that? And only five minutes ago, she would have given anything to be in his presence, to have him that close to her, to have his large, rough hands covering her small, smooth ones. But all she wanted was to get away.

Blinking back tears, she had said, "Well, there isn't really anybody worth loving, so I'll just wait anyways."

She had pretended not to be so hurt every time he looked at her. She'd pretended not to care when he asked, "So, how's your love life?" and she was forced to respond that it was nonexistent. She refrained from shouting at him, "It would be much better if _you_ were the one I was loving!" Nothing had ever been so hard for her to do.

All of the conversations, she tried to force into the back corer of her mind. All of the times she had stared at him, hoping to find him staring back, only to be sorely disappointed. And all of the we'll see's. That was how he responded to everything. We'll see.

"Do you still . . . like me?" he had asked quietly one day.

"Well, yes, to be honest, but I mean, I know nothing's going to happen, so it's just one of those silly, girlish crushes," she had replied quickly.

There was a pause, then: "We'll see."

She had stared at him out of the corner of her eye and asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

All he said was, "We'll see."

Another time – Valentine's Day – they had spoken of things around the same subject. She had just broken up with her boyfriend from Fourth Year, Krum, when she had said brought it up.

"This is so depressing," she had moaned as she watched Harry walk away, arm-in-arm with Cho Chang.

"Why?"

"Because it's my first Valentine's Day without a lover since Viktor was here. And no one cares. They're all saying things like, 'Oh, shut up, you just had a boyfriend. Be grateful – I've never had one in my life.' And I know I should be grateful, and I should shut up, but it's still depressing," she had said.

He'd grimaced and said, "I'm sorry. I care. Will a Valentine's Day kiss make you feel any better?"

At first, her heart had stopped. Had he just said . . . kiss? But then she thought about it and said, "Well, of course, I would like you to, but . . . well, I just don't want you kissing me unless you mean anything by it. Which you wouldn't."

He had smiled and said, "We'll see."

He had said it for the last time. "WHY IS IT ALWAYS _WE'LL SEE_? IT'S SO ANNOYING! EITHER YOU LIKE ME OR YOU DON'T!" she had bellowed. When she was done, he was silent and frowning. She was also frowning and breathing hard.

"I'm sorry," she had whispered, brushing a lock of brown, curly hair out of her eyes. "That was uncalled for. You don't have to answer that if you don't want to. I don't want to make you feel like I put you in a tough position."

Still frowning, he replied, "You kinda . . . already did."

Now, sitting on the bench next to the person she had put in so many tough positions, the person she loved but knew did not love her back, she was deep in thought. The memories all flashed before her eyes quickly. She wished they would go away. All they did was tighten the knot that was twisting in her stomach.

She looked over to him. He was staring into his lap, his eyes closed, biting his lower lip. He seemed to be deep in thought, as well.

"I have to ask you something," she said rather suddenly.

He propped his elbows up on his knees and held his chin in his hands. "Okay, shoot."

She took a deep breath. This was almost as painful as when she had admitted to him that she liked him. But she had to say it. She had to know. The knot that had tied itself up in her stomach began wriggling around inside of her. After all, if he were to answer the question, she would pretty much hear everything that was wrong with her. Yet she had to know. She had to know what he didn't like about her so that she could improve it, make it better – maybe even make it go away.

"Well, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything, and I do have a tendency to put you in tough positions" – his face twisted – "so you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but . . . what was it about me that made you change your mind? What about me did you hate so much that you couldn't stand to think of me as a possible girlfriend anymore?"

She half expected one of those lame, "It's not you, it's me," excuses that guys often gave. The other half of her expected him to say something stupid about her appearance or something, like she didn't wax her eyebrows often enough or she had some weird birthmark on her face. But what he said was no where near what she had expected.

He sat there a moment, looking to the sky, like he was thinking. At first, he didn't say anything. But then:

"I don't know."

Her mouth fell partway open before she said, "Well then, why did you reject me like that?"

Once again, his simple reply was, "I don't know."

She just stared at him for a second, not knowing what to do. But she needn't worry. He had his own plan in mind.

In the midst of the snow and the biting cold, he reached out to her and he kissed her.

For months, she had dreamt of the first kiss – both dreaming by day and by night. She didn't have to dream anymore.


End file.
